


Fate's Plan

by constantly_anxious



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FUCK SAD ENDINGS MAN, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Hyprid!Techno, LEAVING ME WITH A BROKEN HEART N SHIT, Like hes got magic but its different, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Platonic Relationships, So is Phil, Techno is like... a hyprid I guess?, Tommy is human but also not, Uhhh Phil's got wings, Wilbur is m a g i c, Winged!Philza, basically hes got powers, hes still a pig tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantly_anxious/pseuds/constantly_anxious
Summary: Philza always wanted kids.It was something he thought of fondly, even as a child. He couldn't explain it, but the thought of having someone so precious to him made life seem so much brighter. It didn't matter if he had a significant other or not, although it would be nice, he would cherish them until his dying day.He did get his wish in the end, but, fate had a funny way of delivering it to him.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1046





	1. Following Fate

**Author's Note:**

> PLATONIC!! PLATONIC!! THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM!!
> 
> so hi, first time actually posting a fic on AO3, I was going to post this on Wattpad but decided not to last minute. Excuse me as I try to figure what the fuck HTML format is

The day began like any other morning.

The sun stretched beyond the horizon, white cream clouds lazily painting the rosy pinks and violet blues across the sky without a reason to fly. They were, and was, and is. It made sense, yet no sense at all, and that was the beauty of it. You didn't have to make any sense of it, anyone could enjoy the view. Whether that be for the ones who's creativity had no bounds, regularly thinking of ways to interpret the scene and project it into their own work, or for the ones who would choose a more scientific route, figuring out why the sun shined or why the clouds stretched. In the end, though, did it truly matter? All sides still saw it, but only a certain group would see the charm such a view had, after all. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Phil rose out of his cot with bleary eyes, a yawn, and a tired stretch. He woke up with no urgency, only accompanied by a neck cramp and crusty eyes. He didn't have much reason to hurry this time around, so he took his sweet time getting out of the tender sheets of his bed. Phil lightly shivered as his warm foot touched the cold encased flooring, he reminded himself to gather some sheep wool for a carpet as he neatly made his bed, ready for when he would retreat back into sleep if he desired. He stood still for a moment, gathering his thoughts for what he do this slow morning, after succumbing to no immediate ideas he went with the basics. He dressed with more comfort than tactic, the colors typically always varying of green, blue that lead more into grey, and white.

He easily fell into his normal routine, munching on some leftover steak from the previous night as he went over to grab his tools, paying half a mind to his surroundings as he scouted his house for any lurking mobs.

Ultimately deciding there were no hostile creatures to be found, he went back inside to now step out onto his balcony, he took in a deep breath of the gentle breeze. Soon, this peaceful smile spread over his face, bucket hat of green and white keeping any stray hairs from dancing in his mouth. He liked this, it was just himself and the world. Even if it got lonely sometimes, he had himself, and that was enough. 

Phil had gotten very used to living on his own, he at least thought himself to be familiar with it, considering he had spent the better half of five years with no one but the earth and skies. (And he was proud of it too.) Yes, he did have nearby villages and even farther towns to visit if he so desired, but he had no need to. He had everything he could want. Maybe his farm could use a little more love, or perhaps he should find a new hobby, or even get a friend. But, he convinced himself that surviving was okay for now. He breathed in the clean air. He felt the indented stone railing with slightly calloused fingertips. He heard-

_Wait._

Phil's smile suddenly pulled into a thin line, his vision returning from the black void of his closed eyelids to a world full of color. There was a sound, the sound of _something_ far away, faintly echoing throughout the forest. He couldn't quite put his finger on what that sound was. Perhaps it was a voice, or maybe an animal, hell, what about an artifact? It may even be a person, but why all the way out here? And how? There wasn't a village in the surrounding area for at least another hour or two by foot.

Well, Phil sighed, curiosity only sometimes killed the cat. The survivalist mentally prepared himself as he peeled off his coat-like-kimono, closing his eyes so he could focus on the energy restored under his shoulder blades. As expected, there was a stinging pain bundled up under his back, two spots directly horizontal of each other forming into a quickly growing bump. The grip on his coat tightened, face twisting up with cringe as he forced his chest to rise up. 

Philza suddenly stopped mid-breath.

_Crrraaacccckkk._

Long black wings sprouted out the back of his hunched shoulders, primary feathers curling towards each other as cloth loosely hung from the two new holes of Phil's undershirt. Ah, well, nothing a bit of string can't fix.

Phil gently shook his head, blonde curls bouncing against his ears just before his gaze sharpened. He stood up straight, letting out a slow exhale he was holding for a bit too long. Relief pulsed through his soon to be adrenaline-filled veins, wind tingling at the tips of his secondary feathers. Phil glanced behind him, carefully moving his wings around to loosen their muscles up. It's been a while since he's taken a proper flight.

After preparing his joints, Phil looking back out over his balcony with newfound interest. He willed his wings to shift up into a wave, knee's bent at the ready. He counted to a slow three-two-one in his mind, before he swiftly sprung up, getting as much air as possible as he dived off the balcony railing.

Phil's heart skipped a beat when he felt himself drop, arms tumbling in the air just as he remembered to push his wings down. He fell, only to bounce back up, head tilted up towards the sky as his wings cut through the air.

Phil, unable to help himself, let out a small cheer of excitement, laughing as a pulse of adrenaline excitedly shot through his veins. He smiled as he closed his eyes, letting himself fall back, the world turned upside-down for a brief moment before turning right-side-up again. Even while his eyes were closed he felt like he could see the ground spin. Phil's chest heaved up and down as he panted from the cartwheel, unable to hear the sound over the loud flapping of his wings. He slowly cracked his eyes open, nothing but mirth and wonder as they admired his own achievements from down below.

He quickly adjusted his bucket hat, before he made his way to where he last heard the mysterious sound, curious to know what had stumbled upon his land.


	2. Challenging Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't normal. He didn't look the part, he certainly didn't act the part, and for sure sounded like the exact opposite of the part.
> 
> Techno wasn't okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nether works differently here yall, there's like a ranking system n' stuff, kinda like our government with the middle class and upper class. Only there's like, royalty. But remove the castle
> 
> also nO ONE TOLD ME RICH TEXT WAS SO MUCH EASIER WTF

Phil had been flying for a little over ten minutes when he had heard it again, only this time, it was much more clear. He hadn't realized how close he had been, he'd expected the journey to be a little longer considering how far it sounded previously. Maybe the source of the sound had been traveling in his direction, that'd be much more convenient.

Or he was just flying fast, either way, he'll take it.

Humming under his breath, creating another melody in the whispering winds, he looked for a spot to land. He had a bit of trouble, considering he had ventured out into a jungle forest but found a gap just big enough to where he could squeeze through.

Phil let out a small puff of air, tugging his coat over his now wing free back. He trudged forwards with a light shiver, gently running his hands up and down his long sleeves. The jungle was thick, dense, and moist. It trapped whatever was inside and kept it sealed tight, hidden under dungeon lock and key, leaves covering you in darkness to never see sunlight again. It was a maze with no builtin exit, you had to make one, otherwise, you'd never fly again.

Despite knowing this, he moved on, minding his step on every tig and branch. If he had fear, then he shall not let it control him. You can't have fear and danger in the same room, those two are a troublesome pair not meant for the weak-minded. But that could imply many things. What was considered weak-minded? Maybe someone with a history of trauma but no steps to recovery, or perhaps someone with all bark and no bite wanting to prod the sleeping giant...

...or a child.

Phil stopped dead in his tracks, curious blue eyes glistening in the dark to focus on what he had figuratively stumbled upon.

Purple, broken stone frame. Vines and moss leaking out every broken crying obsidian crack. Wide, tall, unlit, and abandoned.

A ruined portal.

He had only seen such a rare sight a couple of times in person, you typically would only find these in books, even then (when it came to the book) ruined portals weren't all that popular.

So why here?

Phil glanced about as if the source of the sound - that he was starting to think was imaginary - would suddenly pop out. Then he could call it a day, satisfied knowing it was only a bug, and go have a bit of a fishing round' his backyard.

But hunger only grows.

He took another step, tall blades of grass softly crunching at his foot.

_Flinch._

Phil's shoulders tensed, he let out a quick puff of air. Just before going on, he tipped down his bucket hat, for good luck.

He took a silent inhale and advanced.

Soon, much sooner than he would have liked, he saw more. He saw a tiny (pink?) body of some kind, twitching in a burrow of vines and dirt and no doubt mud. When his shadow licked at its hands(?) it began to shrink, twitching turning into shaking.

Phil was soon staring at a pair of bright red eyes.

_"What the-"_

Phil jumped back, letting out a shaky breath at the jumpscare, _fucking hell._ He was expecting a lot of things, just not _that._

The small - very small, _too_ small - figure flinched, a short squeak shrilling out from its... snout.

It was a piglin, Phil recognized that the moment he saw those red beady wee little eyes staring right back into his soul. The color contrast the clotted pink fur had to the green weeds was significant, this kind of mob didn't stand a chance out here. What was-? _How was-?_

Suddenly, Phil became all too aware at once, all too aware of the breathing. 

But not his own, it was the piglin's.

The mob appeared to be hyperventilating - something Phil didn't know they _could_ do - not getting enough air in its tiny lungs as it held something tight and shiny in its runty grasp - _god it was so tiny_ \- and it just kept going and going. It's chest heaving up and down faster than it could blink up at the tall, intimidating player.

And before Phil could react, those same red eyes started to roll to the back of its head-

It passed out.

Phil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and before he could stop himself, he was crouching down beside it - them? - maybe them for now.

Just like Phil had seen, they were small. He can't help but point that out every time, they were so fucking small. Tiny, fragile, delicate, any word for 'small' in the whole Endlantis dictionary. How old - young - were they? When was the last time they had eaten? Where are-

Phil looked back at the ruined portal, a conflicted expression twisting onto his face.

Where are their parents?

He noted, rather grimly, that there were no signs of any other life here. (If you didn't count the plant life that is.) No tracks, no broken branches, no footsteps, no nothing. Only a tiny piglin, in the wrong realm, in a very big world. The forest was not a place for a piglin, they should be with their pack - was it even called a pack? - and with their parents. If Phil knew at least one thing about piglins, it was that they never strayed too far away from each other, and always needed to be in intolerable heat.

This place had neither of those things.

Phil glanced back down at the mob, deciding to gather what little info he had to get some kind of answers. They were young, Phil would be shocked if they weren't, and they were lost. Phil could tell by the way the portal looked, the residue of flint laid astray of its stone stair base, that it was built and torn-apart recently yet left alone so long ago. Is that what he could have heard? A portal that was seemingly ruined and old suddenly lit perhaps minutes ago? That didn't add up. The portal had no gold either, which wasn't too strange, not all ruined portals had gold. Phil knew that much.

But what he didn't know was why a piglin, that looked oddly humanoid with the way its legs and hooves(?), was left to die here alone with nothing but a measly golden crown. With whatever light there was seeping through the cracks of the hanging leaves, the gold soaked it up, light perfectly reflecting off the three jewels that laid contently inside it. It was almost mesmerizing, he could understand why the piglin held onto it so dearly, even in their sleep. Piglins _loved_ gold.

But why a crown?

Phil slapped his hand against his forehead, resisting the urge to groan under his breath. Okay, so, what did he know so far?

The portal may have been recently lit, the piglin resembled a human boy, and there was a crown. Fantastic. How helpful.

The hand slowly slid off the - clearly - older's face, an unsure expression gazing down at the murky floor.

Well... he's here. What does he do now?

Phil spared another look at the mob, taking in further detail of the matted and tangled short fur and steady rise and fall of the chest, remembering the look of fear and uncertainty in their eyes when he rounded the portal, the shredded and torn up outfit that reflected the mob's kind.

They would look so at peace if it wasn't for the tense expression that seemed to be permanently etched onto their face.

...

He could leave. That was always an option. He could just pull out his wings and forget this ever happened, this is none of his business after all. Maybe the mom and dad would come looking for their child soon enough and he just had to let the situation be.

But the ruined and clearly broken down portal said otherwise, his morals said otherwise, _he said otherwise._

...

Fuck.

Phil, doing the mental math in his head, finally let out a quiet sigh. Just. Just for a little bit. It couldn't hurt, and wouldn't hurt. There was no way a piglin - nevertheless a _baby_ piglin - could survive out here on their own. They needed help, and maybe Phil would have more answers in the morning, and then they could go whichever way they pleased.

He couldn't just leave them here, that would be a death sentence.

Phil figured he should do something about the shivering first, that was step number one, so he reached forward, only hesitating for a second as his fingers grazed the tangled puffs of short hair. He ran a finger or two gently through the fur, feeling the piglin tense up at the foreign sensation just before resting. Understanding his cue, he gathered the courage to lean down. 

Soon, he had his coat off, and a piglin bundled in his arms.

Phil had just about broke when he felt how _light_ they were, he could literally touch their rib bones. Somewhere under his confusion, he felt rage begin to boil under his skin, children need food. They need protection.

They need a home.

Sadly, Phil had convinced himself that he could only provide two of those things for now, and even then, they were temporary.

Popping out his wings - with the struggle of holding back a grunt - he immediately looked back down. His eyes filled with wonder at the tiny life-form in his arms.

Phil shook his head, no, he couldn't. He shoved that thought to the very back of his mind, it was greedy and selfish, he was only doing a small favor. Nothing else.

The survivalist let out a breath, holding on tight to the wrapped up pig in a blanket - _ha._ \- in his arms, before he took flight. The ruined portal momentarily forgotten and replaced with questions. What could he feed them? Where were his spare blankets again? Did he have any books on nether mobs?

And all the while, Phil never thought to kill it.

*

Techno was scared.

He knew he wasn't supposed to be, piglins weren't supposed to be scared, but he wasn't considered a piglin. But he wasn't considered a blaze, or ghast, or a hoglin either.

So what was he?

Everyone back in the fiery pits of hell he called 'home' didn't have a conjoined opinion about him, the only thing they could all agree upon was that he was special. But it wasn't the kind of special that makes you feel good, it was the bad kind of special. You know that feeling when your in a crowded room, but have no one to talk to? It was that, but worse. 

No one wanted to talk to him, and if they did, it was for the wrong reasons. He was special, apparently very important to piglin kind. All because of what he was.

He didn't like what he was, he didn't even properly know what to consider himself as. He was alive, he knew that much, but there was so much more too it.

He was afraid, but despite this, he knew he couldn't show it. Despite not being full piglin, he was still taught the ways of one. He understood he did not like the cold, he knew of trading, and he especially knew he really _really_ liked gold. (Hinting towards his sparkly crown.) He couldn't explain it, but whenever he looked at gold or his glittery crown, all his worries seemed to wash away. He felt... good. It was a much better feeling than when he was with his drove. (He didn't even know what that word meant, but he got that it was when he was with other piglins his age.)

He wanted to know more, he yearned to learn more. For instance.

Why he had suddenly started breathing so fast? It felt like he just couldn't stop, chest so tight that he thought he may explode. When he saw that big shadow and the even _bigger_ thing that caused the shadow he just couldn't take it.

It hurt. _Why did it hurt?_

Maybe he didn't need to know right now. Perhaps some things are better left for the future, he should focus on the now.

The very, scary now, that left him in this walled-off room. With no certain memory or clue of anything.

Techno didn't understand where he was, or how he got here, but he faintly remembered something having to do with that large shadow. The young piglin shivered at the thought before shaking his head. He couldn't be scared, not now. He had to be brave, as long as he had his crown he'll be- wait. _Where's his crown?_

The piglin's eyes widened, snapping his head up as he searched the warm grove for his shiny thing. He tripped and faceplanted into the thickness, but that didn't stop him from searching any quicker.

He felt immediate relief swarm him as he saw a sparkle of yellow. He yanked at the tallest golden stem, hugging the object tight to his chest as he left out a soft oink. 

Techno sighed contently.

_Until something clicked._

*

"Oh, uh, you're awake."

Phil mindlessly tapped against the doorknob handle, startled to see the piglin already awake. He took notice of the immediate look of distrust, snout wrinkling in disgust in Phil's direction. Needless to say, he got the memo.

The piglin looked a little better though, Phil was able to get out a few knots in their fur but that was it. There were a few patches where some hair hadn't grown in yet, or they were ripped out. Phil hoped it wasn't the latter.

"So..." Phil calmly started out, keeping his hands out where the piglin could see. The last thing he needed was a temper tantrum. "I don't actually know if you can understand me, but, I'll try to make this clear." He cleared his throat. "Are you a boy or a girl?"

The piglin stared at him, red eyes never blinking as they gazed menacingly into his own.

Brilliant.

Phil awkwardly tried again, deciding to try a new method. "Okay... are you-" he made a hand motion. "A girl?"

He waited. Upon no response, Phil continued on. "Or a boy?" He made another hand gesture.

The piglin remained quiet, and Phil almost gave up before he saw the tiniest nod. Okay, fantastic, it - _Phil should start saying he now_ \- could somewhat understand him. Just not completely. Note to self, use more hand motions.

"Right." Phil sighed, now how was he going to say that Techno needed a bath?

This was going to be exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what Techno looks like, also yes this is my artwork pog
> 
>   
> 


	3. Refusing Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated it. He hated the boarding school, he hated magic, and he hated rules.
> 
> Who the fuck names their kid 'Wilbur Soot' anyways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS WILBUR'S TIME TO SHINE WOOOOOOO
> 
> Also, I mention it in the chapter but there's a time skip  
> Previously, in the last chapter, Techno was around like six or so. Now he's a preteen  
> Phil is also like, around 27 here

Phil was weird.

Techno didn't know how to explain it well, despite the books he's been reading over the years, but Phil was weird. He was like his own extinct species. No matter how many times Phil told him he was a human, a genetic upper-class group in the overworld, he always shook his head and grunted in protest. Phil was much too weird to be just a human. He had been gathering his evidence for around the past seven years.

Number 1. Phil took him in

When Techno was only a piglet, he had no idea where he was or what was happening and where he would go. Even now his memory was fuzzy. Before he was in a world of green and blue there was red and black, the only plant you'd find was smelly fungus, and birds would never be close to crying ghasts. He could very, very faintly remember something purple and his world turning upside down. But that was it, there was nothing else before that. At first, he was worried. Why couldn't he remember? Did he forget something, or _someone?_ What was he like before he came here? Questions only grew, and answers never followed. However he had learned to live with the hunger, to research about his bottled-up rage that only increased with time, and since then he just wondered.

But, Phil didn't care.

Phil only asked once, just after he had given Techno a book about his realm. The Nether.

"Do you remember anything?" He could almost imagine the raise of an eyebrow, nothing but earnest curiosity in his light eyes.

Techno shook his head soon after, refusing to make a sound, and just like that the subject was dropped. He wasn't pressured to try to talk, or forced to remember. Phil just dropped it and moved on, teaching him about books and how to read.

In fact, Phil gave him answers. He gave him more things to wonder about that weren't surrounding his homeland. He told him about the sky, how clouds stretched further than the eye could see. He taught him about the creatures, how there was more to it than humans and magma. He taught him about plants, how even the smallest seed could turn into the tallest beanstalk.

Techno took an extreme interest in that, he had never heard of such a concept. You could grow your own plant? Something you could eat? Something you could watch?

Testing his luck, he had squeaked, pointing a hooved finger towards the picture of a green stick with white tips at the top and a yellow middle. Phil encouraged him to understand more about it, telling him what a stem and petals were, how some seeds need certain soil, and the right amount of water to grow.

Techno's curiosity became longer than his growing tusks.

Number 2. He was too nice

No matter how stubborn Techno was, putting up a fight whenever he could, Phil would stay patient. He would take his time, always showing and telling what he would do before he did it, and if Techno didn't generally like it, Phil didn't do it. (Unless if it was a bath, apparently he 'needed' those from time to time.) Anytime Techno stared for a bit too long at Phil cleaning the dishes, he would somehow notice and even offer him to show him if he wanted.

Many times Techno found himself calming down, and even getting closer, studying what Phil would do and how he would do it. (And even helping sometimes, something a piglin wasn't supposed to do without reward.)

Finally, Number 3. Him

Techno had no need to explain number three, it was just that simple. It was Phil, someone who offered him a place to stay and even told him when he was older that he could leave whenever he liked, someone who comforted him on the wakeful nights and read him to sleep, someone who taught him about strength and made him his very own sword to train with. (Techno didn't care if it was wood, it was a sword!!)

Phil was his everything, without Phil, he wouldn't be here.

So that night, the night he stood next to Phil's bed and watched him sleep, where a singular question plagued him from sweet dreams.

Who were his parents?

Techno now huffs at the question, hopping onto the bed and shyly snuggling up close to the person who cared when the world didn't.

He doesn't remember his parents, and he doesn't need to.

He has Phil.

*

"I'm going out mate!" Phil called out the half-open front door, waiting a just a couple seconds. He smiled as he saw an ear poke out behind the kitchen table, followed by a larger snout with two horns and two red eyes.

Phil gave a point to his wrist, and then the sun. "I'll be back soon." 

Techno glanced out the window before looking back up at Phil (he was growing very fast in height, and reached Phil's shoulder), giving a short nod and even offering a thumbs-up. Phil's smile widened, happily reflecting the progress they'd made. The piglin timidly shrunk back behind the table, most likely due to the pride that was definitely glowing on Phil's face. 

Phil closed the door as Techno waved him goodbye, making sure to lock up before making his way out to the nearest village, which just so happened to be in a desert. So he was more equipped this time 'round.

It's been a long while since he's taken Techno into his life, but he doesn't regret it one bit. The moment he had him in his arms, just staring down with such intensity, he knew that there was no way he'd be able to let go easily. He was thankful Techno had grown to be the same way, even after offered to leave when he liked, Techno stayed. Whether that was because he was waiting or because he had nowhere to go, Phil didn't ask. He never did. Techno was not a fan of being under pressure, just like anyone else, he had anxiety. Specifically social anxiety. 

(He found this out when he had taken Techno out of the house for the first time, he was so frightened of the villagers that he ended up sticking by Phil's side the whole time. If you ignored how scared Techno was then the scene was cute, Phil took into grave detail that Techno trusted him enough to even bring him out _and_ protect him.)

Phil couldn't be prouder of Techno's progress, the piglin was a quick learner. He could now understand most English words, taking it upon himself to learn all by himself without any guidance. Whenever Phil tried to offer a tip, Techno denied him, wanting to find out for himself and figure out what Phil was going to say.

The survivalist chuckled at the enamored memories, fondly shaking his head as he picked up the pace. He wanted to get home soon, knowing Techno he would be eager for his arrival, no matter his tough facade.

Phil adjusted the messenger bag wrapped over his shoulder, lifting his leg over to hop across a fallen log. Phil was going out to get more food, and any other supplies needed. As neat as Techno could be, he was still incredibly reckless. The moment he had gifted Techno a sword for his eighth birthday, the house had quickly been torn to shreds. He couldn't remember a time where food actually got stuck to the ceiling. Phil was fast to create a mini-training area in the backyard, relieved Techno wouldn't destroy the house anymore. He also needed to get more books, Techno had shockingly read through his personal (and rather small) library already. The boy even found a few old books hiding in a former closet of his, and those things were _giant._ As impressive as that was, Techno grew bored of rereading them, so Phil needed to get him some more material. Perhaps something more his style, maybe something on farming or weapons? Maybe farming, that sounded safer.

Even more keen on returning home now, Phil made haste.

*

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"Hey! Get back here you runt!" A gruff voice called from behind their partner.

The fugitive let out a loud huff, choking out a chuckle that ached their lungs. _"I outta' punt you-"_ He mumbled under his breath, unable to be heard over the howl of wind whizzing past his ears. 

Clanks of footsteps pounded against the gritty sandstone, grains of sand flying in his squinted eyes with strands of hair trying to get in his mouth. He eyed his surroundings, searching for an escape. He caught sight of some upcoming crates, just left of an alleyway that led to the village market. He could lose these suckers.

Just when he got close enough, he made a hard left, hand drifting up to tug the highest box last minute. The contents spilled down behind his dust trail, wooden box shattering against the tough limestone, blocking the way behind him. He grinned to himself as he heard a string of curses and a thud, most likely from one - _hopefully both_ \- falling down from the collision.

Unfortunately, whatever god that was out there wasn't as kind to him as he'd like, the sound of footsteps quickly catching up. He frowned but kept his head up. He only heard one pair, the other must have been slowed down. So now he just had one cop to lose.

Wilbur grinned, it was just that easy.

He panted under his breath, inhaling the humid air in an attempt to soothe his burning lungs. He blinked away the tears that stained the corners of his eyes, pushing down all his weight on his heels to skid to an abrupt stop.

People. They were everywhere.

Humans walked up and down the sandy pathway, dismissing the constant sound of lively chatter and crunching shoes no matter how distracting it may seem. They all were so captivated by their tasks, either counting their coins to make a trade or striking up a conversation with old buddies. He didn't know how they could stand this kind of weather, hot and humid air and sweaty armpits were not his cup of tea. Then again, he wasn't from around here. He was a very long way from, ahem, 'home'.

Wilbur snapped back into it, his mental monologue that seemed like minutes really appearing as seconds, he felt panic begin to shoot up his spine as the footsteps from behind him began to double again. Meaning the one he toppled that crate over got his shit together and bounded back into the party.

He had to think fast, so with a plan he had no time to go over, he ran. 

He swiftly joined in with the crowd of people, momentarily thanking his tall height for such a young age, blending right in with his worn-out shoes and brown scarf. But he had no time to stop, he had to dodge and weave, he needed to get himself out of their sights. 

Wilbur pushed and shoved whoever came in his path, ignoring their grunts of protests or the occasional _"Hey watch it!"_ 's as he ducked down. He threw his legs up and popped back over the trolly full of barley, sending a raspberry towards the upset owner of said trolly who gave a birdy his way, before starting to speedwalk. He could hear the sound of the two coppers, causing a huge scene with their yelling and pleading for him to come back. He scoffed, _as if_ he would dare to step foot on their property again.

Just when he was out of sight of any previous strangers he had bumpin' into, he threw his head over his shoulders. Finally letting out loud audible gasps for air, his heart painfully thudding against his sore ribcage. His feet, throbbing from numbness and overuse, struggled not to drag against the sandy floor. Wilbur, sagging his shoulder down in relief, had lost them.

"Oof!"

"Ah!"

Wilbur tumbled to the ground in a heap of dust, coughing out in distress as sand attacked his lungs, he fiercely rubbed his right eye as he whipped his head up. The grumpiest of expressions on his face as he stared at the guy who bumped into him, but sadly, hadn't fallen down.

"Watch it old man!" He snapped, anger and tired and so sick of running. The guy didn't even look that old, even if he had a bit of a blonde stubble, if Wilbur had to guess then he looked like he was in his twenties.

He had expected to be cursed out now, maybe even to get a kick to the already sore ribcage, but nothing came. The man who wore a bucket hat simply raised an eyebrow. "Old man?" He sounded wounded, but not in a genuine way. If anything his tone was light, obviously implying he wasn't actually offended. (Which Wilbur only grew grumpier by.)

"I'm not that old kid." The stranger huffed, adjusted his messenger bag before offering Wilbur a hand up off the ground.

Wilbur suddenly felt anger tip over his fallen sippy cup, and before he could stop himself, he rolled his eyes. _"Oh fuck off,"_ he grumbled, rudely rejecting the help as he stood up himself. See, he's fine, the world only spun a little bit.

The man frowned, which Wilbur took immediate pride in, but his grin was quick to deflate. 

The footsteps were back, and they were coming in hot.

Wilbur cursed under his breath, panic quickly overloading his senses as he frantically looked around. He had to hide, he needed to hide. But to his demise, there was nowhere to go. He had crashed down in a part of the village just where there were no people and no more crates, it was only him and this polite stranger. Wilbur's breath spiked, thick air not doing anything to benefit him. He was fucked, what the hell is he gonna do-

Suddenly, Wilbur's world spun around, and before he could scream. He was hiding behind someone a few inches taller than him, perfectly out of vision from the upcoming fun police approaching the bucket hat man.

Wilbur kept his mouth shut, ducking his head down and curling himself into this stranger. He had no time to run, he had nowhere _to_ run, he could only stay quiet and hope he wasn't found out.

He quieted his breathing as he heard two people stop in front of them, he imagined one crossing both arms over their chest as they sighed. "Excuse me, sir, have you seen a young boy running around here? He has brown hair and dark eyes, he carries a copper-colored coat on his shoulders."

Wilbur heard as the stranger, the same one he had rudely called an old man, quietly hum in question. As if he wasn't hiding him.

Just a few seconds later his bucket hat tipped down, shaking his head, sounding confused and a little sympathetic. He could picture a pitiful smile as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen him. Perhaps he went back up to the main market."

Wilbur slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders trembling with silent laughter as he heard the two cops groan. Shortly, they thanked the stranger and went back to the crowd, disappearing from sight.

He still stayed put though, unsure if it was alright to come out. And as if sensing his discomfort, the stranger called over his shoulder to him. "It's safe, you can come out."

He jerked himself away rather quickly, eager to no longer be hiding and for his captivity to be prolonged another day. Wilbur sighed with relief, "Thank god! They don't know when to give up." He groaned, shaking his head as he spared a glance towards his savior.

He took another chance to inspect him. Wilbur was about 5'7, and if he had to guess, this guy was around 5'9 at least. Light blue eyes and blonde hair (those characteristics oddly resembled someone he had seen before, but it wasn't this guy.), green coat, and dark sandals. Easy-going smile and full messenger bag.

"Uh." Wilbur soon started out, clearing his throat. He supposed he should say thank you, he wasn't a total dick. "Thanks for the save, and uh, sorry for being a douchebag earlier." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, offering the smallest smile he could.

The man seemed to pay no mind to the half-assed apology though, simply smiling wider and offering: "It's all good mate, I'm sorry for dragging you behind me. They were coming in really quick."

Wilbur blinked, but the shock in his eyes remained. He was apologizing, for what? Saving his skin? Did he know of these people and their antics?

As much as his interest grew about this adult, he had no time to stall, he was racing against the clock here. Any moment they could come back and see that they were lied to and Wilbur would be dragged away to that horrid prison. (It wasn't actually a prison, it was a boarding school, but he didn't see a difference.)

"Well uh, nice chat but I gotta get going..." Wilbur chuckled, spinning around on the ball of his foot. He made an effort to walk a few steps, back towards the main market and his main exit, but he stopped short.

The cops were still looking for him there, and this guy wouldn't be around to save him again. Plus, where would he go after that? He didn't have a clue about where he was, how far the next town would be, or when his next meal would be. He had just been hunting for food when he was ambushed, next thing you know he's running for his life again, the same old cat and mouse chance.

He didn't have a plan, and that was painfully obvious. 

He hadn't realized it, but the man had joined his side, looking at him with a little too much concern in his eyes. "You alright?"

Wilbur let out a huge sigh, his shoulder's sagging down with such defeat that even the most narcissistic couldn't cover. "Want me to answer honestly?" He grumbled, not waiting on a reply as he began to kick at the sand beneath his feet. "I'm anything but alright." He confessed, unable to shut the lid of his bowling tea kettle. He was tired, hungry, and damn exhausted. Did he mention tired? "I've been running for _god knows_ how long, and I'm hungry and tired and dirty. I have nowhere to go and no idea of where to go, and now, I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere."

The days, weeks - _hell even months_ \- of running away finally caught up to him, liquid words flowing out from his mouth like an uncontrollable oil spill. He sounded pathetic and was acting pathetic, but damnit he didn't care right now. He's just a kid - only fifteen fucking years old man - but he has a bounty on his head, he can cross that off the bucket list. Become a wanted man. Done and done!

Snapping him out of his monologue, a hand pressed itself against his back, gentle and kind as this stranger's smile.

These next words caught him by the mouth.

"Would you like to hide out at my place? I've got a son around your age staying with me, but he shouldn't cause you much trouble."

Wilbur backtracked, physically unable to hold back the hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

But before he could take that offer up, his eyebrows stitched together, trust issues stabbing him in the back with a cold unforgiving knife. "What's the catch..." He suspiciously trailed off, even more, confused when the man appeared to frown. But he seemed understanding of his tension at least.

"There's no catch." The man informed, nothing but sincerity in his tone. "You can stay for as long as you like and leave whenever you want, if you want some kind of catch, you could help me with some chores as a price?"

It sounded easy enough, just play maid and he gets food and shelter for free? It truly sounded like an offer.

An offer he couldn't refuse.

Wilbur hesitated, glancing away to see the faraway shops with even farther away people. It wasn't too late, he could just give himself up, he doesn't have to do this. He has a choice.

He can't go back. He won't go back.

He refused to go back.

The younger let out a groan, finally making up his mind. "Okay, fine, whatever! I'll do your chores, as long as you hold true to your word." He grumbled, crossing both arms over his chest.

The man's smile came back, and Wilbur found himself shrinking away from such a sight, something so happy should not be in his presence. "As long as you hold true to yours, you've got yourself a deal." He perked, giving up some new information.

"I'm Phil."

Wilbur was offered a hand, and this time, he didn't reject it.

"Wilbur, Wilbur Soot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS LIKE 3,500 WORDS YOU ARE VERY WELCOME
> 
> I might have to extend the chapter number, this might be six instead of five lmao


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